Part XVI

Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.

“Iliad XV”

 

 

book fifteen

 

And the gods argue about the program,

changing channels

from News to Sports, Hades hates Wheel Of Fortune.

Now the god of earthquakes shakes in anger:

“What outrage! Great as he is, what overweening arrogance!

So force me, will he, to wrench my will to his?”

“I too want it my way too?” Poseidon growls.

“Three brothers we are,

all sprung from Cronus,

all of us brought to birth by Rhea —

Zeus and you Poseidon!

So am I, Hades the third, lord of the dead beneath the earth.”

Hades defends himself…  

“The world is split three ways.

Each of us received his realm,

each should also have his own television.”  

(-:

raising a stink

            (-:

                                (-:

                    (-:

                                  (-:

Sitting there at Jetty Road feelings were

awakened, the need to water the plants.

Did he really have to use one of these

silly looking green white plastic boxes which

stank so much just for the sake of taking a leak?

How gross these boxes were, how unnatural.

And as kids they used to practice who

could piss the highest and the furthest

over fences and up tree trunks

and it was clean fun.

They never wetted

each other,

the thought

was there.

“Practice

made

perfect

boys”,

girls tried

too.

That was

before Nintendo

and computers,

maybe they still do.

He was gagging as he unzipped

his pants in the unventilated green plastic box

where equally green flies where feasting from undescribable

discards.What an insult these in-humane-out-houses were to the lungs

of any breathing creature, who was being protected by those

dis-ease breeeding sanitation devices?

 

 

O-:

 

 

senses

He saw: The Park Ranger coming.
He heard: “The park closes in ten minutes!”
He smelled: Iodine salt and humidity.
His fingers touched: The ignition key, it turned.

His tongue tasted:
Hot tamalis from Watsonville, Mexican style
spareribs from Marina, by small hands, Korean hands
Apfelstrudel from Seaside, at the Stammtisch
Middle-America>Asia>Europe
a round trip 4-2
in less than three hours
for under thirty bucks.

Spoiled rotten he used to take
all he could get.

And he wondered if Deborah
might be still be available after all.

If necessary he would tutor her
yes he was desperate
therefore such made sense.

 

HATE & love

I love myself so much

to know

FEAR of the unknown, the dark, the evil, I hate.

…the tastes I love:

Rich texture of abalone;

Neutral taste of fresh oysters;

And Tae-Hui’s Kim-chi.

FALSE accusations I hate!

…the sights I love:

Lush green forests;

Fog-banks over Mon terra;

Monterey Bay;

Tahoe’s curtains of gently frozen rain;

Snowflakes.

EVIDENCE of unspeakable chemical reactions, I hate.

…the smells I love:

Scent of seaweed;

Salty brine the oceans’ sweat;

Fresh meaty flat fishes cooked over an open fire;

Salmon smoked over apple wood;

Cuban cigars;

Honey and bee pollen;

Old ginseng root.

APPEARING in the news, biological warfare, I hate.

…the touching I love:

The tender lips of my lover;

Her fingertips exploring;

Arms hugging;

Peace within;

Counting money;

Down feathers’ comfort of my bed;

Microsoft’s Keyboard having something to write;

A full ripe juicy Fuji apple;

My tongue and Italian icecream dripping from the cone.

REAL monsters, the Idi Amins of this world, I hate.

…the sounds I love:

Twirling, swirling, gargling

Carmel river swollen from

the winter rains frolicking splashing

over rocks and sand rushing

on its way to spill out in the sea;

The wind’s melody playfully counting

each artichoke on the thistle bushes surrounding Castroville.

Bill Minor playing with the Abalone Stompers

on the deck at the River Inn;

The roaring of the motor cycles

leaving Monterey after each cycle-race-weekend.

HATE? I hate to hate.

…love? I love to love!

 

 

 

ILIAD XVI 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…and have a most beautiful day, every day!